One: The End

I was worried about One’s tendency towards silence. I think I mentioned it in the original post about him, how I did most of the talking, how he had a habit of bobbing his head along to whatever song was playing and being fine with that.

Ok, a man who is easily entertained. That’s cool.

But then as we continued our communication over the phone throughout the week, it sort of became a problem. Most of the conversation would be me asking questions, stupid mundane questions to avoid the silence that he seemed perfectly content to surround himself with.

And then he called my best friend my “home girl.” Or is it “homegirl?” I don’t know, is it one word or two? This ticked me off. He seemed to be getting comfortable in the sureness our continued conversation, our plan for a second date. He texted asking for a picture of me for his phone. It weirded me out. I don’t know why, it just felt weird. It was one date. I had fifty-one more to go. Saving pictures to our respective phones to show up when we called was a little much for me. In our technological world where relationships are defined by facebook statuses, it felt a little like too much too soon.

So I pulled a Chandler. I buckled. I started to find the things that are wrong with him. Ok, I’ll say it: when faced with a man who is a little too eager, I become the most commitment-phobic woman on the face of the earth. I run for the freakin’ hills, ok? I found myself rolling my eyes when he spoke in Ebonics (something I would do with or without his cloy), when he didn’t text in proper sentences, when he sent me a link to a porn website.

Hold up.

What was that?

Oh right. We were on the phone late one night. He was working, and I was sitting on my couch, legs propped up on the coffee table in the deepest of slouches, when I made a joke about checking out porn at work. It started with a conversation about his workmate who he found looking at a computer screen in a dark room one night, who startled at his entrance and quickly closed the laptop he was looking at. I made some appropriate for only one date and a light kiss comment about porn and he said, “Yeah, I don’t believe in that stuff.”

I know what you’re thinking, “Awww, what a good guy!” But what was my thought?

Deal breaker. Because I certainly do!

So I pushed the issue. “What do you mean you don’t believe in it? It’s not a religion.” He slinked away behind some urban accent I couldn’t make out, some lame explanation that made absolutely no sense, and a change of subject.

This ticked me off. “No, what do you mean? You don’t ever look at porn?” He tried his avoidance tactic again, and I grabbed hold of his verbal tail. I was honestly looking for him to say that, yes, in fact he thinks porn is immoral and inappropriate and disgusting so that I could laugh and say, “I’m sorry, this isn’t going to work out” and walk the fuck away.

But instead, good little Christian that he is, he suddenly and distractedly spouts, “Nah, I’m just kidding. I watch it every morning. But only if the girl’s on top or doggy style. That’s the only thing that really gets me off.”

HOLY TOO MUCH INFORMATION, BATMAN!

I was being coy! I was being cute! I was ready to give him a tiny sliver of my freak side and there he goes BLOWING ME OUT OF THE PERVERTED WATER!

I got off the phone. Quickly. Immediately. Gotta go. Gotta watch… uhh… the news.

And then he texted me: www.xhamster.com

“What’s that?” I texted back.

“A really good porn site. You should check it out.”

Now I read somewhere about a woman who dated online for quite some time, and one of her definite, no questions asked deal breakers was if a man started talking dirty before the second date. I remember thinking, “That’s a good deal breaker.” So, I sat with the text open in my hand, and then I did what any smart single girl would do.

I went upstairs and typed www.xhamster.com into my web browser.

The next day, he texted to apologize for sending me the link. Perhaps he could tell from my hasty phone departure and lack of responding texts that I wasn’t amused by his sexually explicit and forward communication. And, as exciting as it was to have a new free porn website, I did find his behavior inappropriate. Still, the fact that he apologized for it without me mentioning it meant that he realized it was inappropriate, which showed an inkling of promise.

And then he texted, “Did you check it out?”

I exhaled all hope.

And then he texted, “Did you see anything you like?”

Of course, imagine this all in Ebonics and text speak. I’m paraphrasing.

And then he texted, “Anything you’ve tried before?”

Fed up, I wrote back, “That is not something I would tell you.”

And then he texted, “LOL I think I know what you like ;) LOL.”

And we’re done here.

I didn’t respond. He called me later that night at 1:30am and texted me asking me if I was up. I didn’t answer either attempt at communication.

The next morning we were to meet for breakfast. One of the things that I hope to accomplish from this exercise is to not only to force myself to continually date even after being discouraged by shit men, but also to become comfortable with rejection. Not people rejecting me. No, I’m an old pro at that. But becoming comfortable with the act of rejecting people. Clearly stated: I suck at it. I draw it out for weeks, I pussy foot around the issue, I give false hope, and I never ever trust my instincts. Everyone has potential, in my mind. What if I let this one go? What if I’m being too prejudice? Too judgmental? Too emotionally fucked up by my sloppy childhood? Obviously, I don’t trust my own judgment. What can I say? I’ve stuck it out with some shit men. It makes sense not to trust myself.

But something happened the morning we were supposed to meet. I got back from the gym and realized I may have to do this fifty-two times, if necessary, and I better buck the fuck up and get on with it. There’s something about the forced repetition of this exercise that is incredibly liberating. Nervous about a first date? You have fifty-one more like it. Nervous about what to wear? By the end of this you will have exhausted your entire wardrobe. So, I texted him: “I’m not going to be able to meet up this morning. It was nice getting to know you, but I don’t think we’re a good match.”

His response: “k LOL.”

The end.